In the Darkness WithYou
by tlyxor1
Summary: Thalia had never thought much about what would happen to her after death, but perhaps she should have. Reincarnated as the twin of Dorea Black, the once Girl Who Lived muddles through one of the most tumultuous periods in western history, and inadvertently falls in love along the way. WWII era AU, ft. Grindelwald, Hydra, and the intrepid Howling Commandos. fem!HP/Bucky
1. Part 1: Chapter 1

**In the Darkness With You**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, or the Marvel Cinematic Universe. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Summary:** Thalia Potter had never thought much about what would happen to her after death, but in retrospect, perhaps she should have. Reincarnated as the twin sister of Dorea Black, the once Girl Who Lived somehow muddles herself through one of the most tumultuous periods of modern history, and inadvertently falls in love along the way. WWII era AU, featuring Grindelwald, Hydra, and the intrepid Howling Commandos. Eventually, that is. Thalia (fem!HP)/Bucky

**Rating:** M for violence, character death, adult themes, and maybe language.

**Author:** tlyxor1.

**Part One: In the Dark, I Can Hear Your Heartbeat**

**Chapter One: Welcome to New York**

_8th August, 1938 _

As planned, Marius meets her at Pier 88, dressed smartly in trousers, a starched white button down, and the obligatory suspenders. The look suits him, far from the traditional, stifling robes they'd both endured in their youth, and so too does the bright, unfettered smile he wears upon sight of her.

Despite the years they'd lived together as children, it's perhaps the happiest Thalia's ever seen him.

"Look at you," he marvels, hands braced on her shoulders. Beside her, a deckhand carefully drops her trunk at her feet, "You've grown, baby sister."

Thalia blindly offers the deckhand a tip, replying to Marius, "It's been seven years. I'd hope I have. You look well."

The last time she'd seen him, Marius had been just shy of his 17th birthday, awkward, gangly, and brimming with unabashed, unapologetic resentment. His impending departure from their home in London - not Grimmauld Place, mercifully, but closer than Thalia would ever like - had hung over his head like the Sword of Damocles, and the tension in the house had been unbearable.

Thalia had been 11 at the time, only days shy of her First Year at Hogwarts, and a lot had changed since then. She's 18 now, he's 24, and neither of them need their parents - or their parents' approval - as they once had. Moreover, despite - or in spite of - Pollux's prediction that Marius would crash and burn, Thalia's favourite brother has made a life for himself in New York City.

With all of the opportunities now open to her, Thalia is bound and determined to do the same.

"That it has," Marius agrees. He wraps her up in a hug, and Thalia returns the embrace wholeheartedly, "I've missed you, Lia."

"I've missed you too, Marius. I'm really glad to be here."

Aside from her twin sister, Marius is the sibling Thalia is closest to. Pollux is an unpleasant, narrow-minded idiot, and although she'd helped Thalia with her great escape, Cassiopeia has always been far too rapt up in her research, or in her plotting and scheming, to pay much attention to her family and friends. In contrast, Marius had always had time for his youngest sisters, and even over the last seven years of long distance correspondence, that hasn't changed.

It's no surprise, then, that for Thalia, her brother is a site for sore eyes. He's filled out, grown into his long limbs and broad shoulders and handsome face, grown out of his acne problem and teenage boy smell, and she'd missed it all.

Marius releases her with that same smile on his face, and moves to pick up her trunk. "I'm really glad you're here too. Are you ready to leave? See the sites?"

Thalia smiles softly. "Lead the way."

"As you wish." Even as he holds her travel trunk with both hands,Marius offers her his arm, and Thalia tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow, "On the way, why don't you tell me about your trip? Were you seasick at all?"

Thalia exhales wearily. The travel between Southampton and Manhattan had taken longer than she would like, but the cruise itself wasn't horrible. She'd experienced a little nausea, at first, but by her seventh and last day on board, the cabin fever had set in with a vengeance, and Thalia was more or less desperate to feel land beneath her feet.

"Not overly so," Thalia answers, "But I can't say ship travel particularly agrees with me."

"You're fortunate," Marius informs her, "I spent my entire trip hurling up my insides. It was a wonder I still had intestines by the end of it."

"How pleasant," she deadpans. Marius laughs, unfettered and unapologetic, and Thalia grins at the sound. It's been years since they've been in each other's company, but it's as though no time has passed at all. "I suppose I should count my blessings."

"That you should," Marius concurs,

In a car he's borrowed from a friend, Marius shows her the sites of Manhattan. Even in the midday sun, it's glamorous, the people and the places both, but as her brother drives, he speaks of the cesspit of crime and corruption underlying it all, and in truth, Thalia can't say she's particularly surprised. Nothing is ever as it seems, not all that glitters is golden, but as Marius heads towards Brooklyn, Thalia tries not to dwell on it. It's easier said then done.

"What's your place like?"

"It's a flat," Marius explains, "Two bedrooms, one bathroom. I've set up your room for you, but you'll have to decorate it. It's in a neighbourhood called Carroll Gardens, and, honestly, most of the neighbours are Irish."

"And they haven't killed you yet?"

At present, there's a lot of resentment between the Irish and the British, mostly caused by decisions made by their respective governments. It's caused a lot of Irish and British nationals to immigrate elsewhere, but Thalia can't imagine a change in countries can quell that sort of tension. Not when, generally speaking, national pride runs deep.

Marius shrugs, unfazed. "Not yet."

The neighbourhoods they pass through are far from the affluence she or Marius had been surrounded by as children, though Thalia is not surprised. She and Marius have always been kindred spirits in that regard, discomforted by and disinterested in their blue blood family's frivolous displays of wealth and luxury, by the ease in which they spend money on anything and everything under the sun.

For Marius, his lack of magic had been a contributing factor, of course - he'd never quite felt as though he'd belonged in their family, and their parents had never made any effort to assure him otherwise - but that aside, he'd never considered social status, appearance, and/or wealth particularly important, either. . As such, he fits in Brooklyn in ways he'd never fit in all of the pomp and circumstance of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black - at least, he seems a lot happier, a lot more settled here - and Thalia is comforted by it.

"Here we are," Marius pulls up at the curb beside a nondescript apartment building. It's six storeys tall, and a handful of small, barefoot children play on the sidewalk, "Home sweet home."

With her trunk in hand, Marius leads Thalia upstairs, to a corner apartment on the third floor. It's brightly lit, and cleaner than she'd expect of a bachelor, but it's spartan, decorations few and far between.

"I'll leave you to get settled in," Marius says, slumped against the door frame as Thalia takes in her new room, "I'm going to return the car."

"Take your time," she offers him a grateful smile and another hug, "I'll cook dinner. A token of my gratitude for letting me stay here, if you will."

Marius eyes her dubiously. "Disregarding the fact that you really don't have to, do you know how to cook?"

It's a valid question. Thalia's food at home has always been made by house elves, and barring herself, Thalia doesn't know anyone in her family who knows how to make a meal for themselves. Not even Cassiopeia, who prides herself on her independence, and on her competence in all things.

Thalia, however, has all the hard-earned skills of Thalia Potter, and that includes everything she'd (begrudgingly) learned at the hands of her once aunt, Petunia Dursley. The appliances may be different, the preferred dishes as well, but the basic concepts haven't changed over time, and Thalia's not at all concerned that she might fail spectacularly.

"I do, you ogre," she rolls her eyes, "I suppose I'll have to head to the store to collect some groceries, though."

"I'll believe it when I see it, Lia. I'll write down some directions for you. The general store isn't far. The butcher and grocer are right beside it. You do know how to act muggle, don't you?"

"Thanks. You won't be disappointed, and yes, Marius, I'm not obtuse."

Marius doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't argue. He nods his acknowledgement instead, steps away from the bedroom door, and wanders off in search of pen and paper.

Thalia, meanwhile, begins the slow process of unpacking her things and settling in, a smile on her face she can't shake for the life of her. She's finally where she wants to be, far from the suffocating expectations of her parents and eldest brother, far from the fears and concerns that had dogged her every step on British soil, and far from the inescapable temptation to make Tom Riddle disappear before he ever receives the chance to become Lord Voldemort.

In truth, it's only Thalia's fear of creating an even worse future than the one she'd once lived that had stayed her hand, and Tom Riddle would never know how close he'd come to dying in the Autumn of 1937. It's a secret only known by Dorea, and between the two of them, it's a secret they'll take to their graves.

"All right," Marius pulls her from her reverie, once more slumped against the frame of her bedroom door. He's pulled an ivy cap over his brown hair, and he twirls a keyring around his index finger, "I'm off. You can wait, if you like, and I can accompany you when I get back."

Thalia sighs, long-suffering. "I'm not helpless, Marius."

Her brother raises his hands in supplication, steps out of the doorframe with a rueful shake of his head, and approaches the front door. As he does so, he informs her, out of sight, "I should be back in an hour or two. I left your directions on the counter."

"Thank you," she acknowledges, "I'll see you when you get back."

Marius leaves, and Thalia isn't far behind him. She's barely unpacked, but the curiosity surrounding her new home is one she can't - and won't - ignore.

Better yet, an ocean away from the watchful, overbearing eyes of her family, there is no one to stop her from donning a pretty dress and sandals, packing a small handbag, and walking out of Marius' (and now her) apartment. Here, she is no longer confined by the trappings of her conservative, traditional parents and eldest brother, and she can do exactly as she pleases without shame, without rebuke, without regret.

With that in mind, Thalia leaves a note for her brother, exits the apartment, and sets out to explore Carroll Gardens to her heart's content.

**AUthor's Note:** I'm doing some extreme procrastinating right now, so I thought I might cull my stories folder. I should actually be working on the assignment I have due on Friday (730 words out of 2000 already written), but I've been working on it on and off all day, and I need a break. So, here you go, Chapter 1 of 4 already written. Hope you enjoy, and because I probably won't write any more A/N's, I hope you have a restful Easter. Until next time, -t.


	2. Part 1: Chapter 2

**In the Darkness With You **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, or the Marvel Cinematic Universe. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Part One: In the Dark, I Can Hear Your Heartbeat**

**Chapter Two: I Knew You Were Trouble**

_8th August, 1938_

After her visit to the shops, Thalia returns to the apartment building with arms laden down with groceries. A man approaches the front doors at the same time, tall, and handsome, with broad shoulders and an easy, charming smile. He holds one of the doors open for her, and once they're both inside, he offers to carry her bags upstairs.

"That's kind of you," Thalia acknowledges, "But I'm quite all right, thank you."

There's a part of her, influenced by her memories of the 1990's and early 2000's, by the omnipresent wariness of strangers, that remains baffled by peoples' manners in the 1930's. As Thalia Potter, she'd never offered to assist her neighbours with their groceries, had never expected them to offer to assist her with her own, and for the life of her, she can't shake the reflex to refuse. It's more than her history, more than the upbringing that had taught her not to depend on anyone but herself. Instead, it's something inherent in Thalia, something that's carried her through both of her lives and the trials and tribulations therein, something that will have to be wrenched out of her cold, dead hands. .

It's her pride. Her dignity. Her self-respect.

"May I walk with you, then?" He flicks his gaze towards the narrow stairs, and adds wryly, "I think we're heading in the same direction."

Thalia smiles, a slight upturning at one corner of her mouth, and offers him a brief shrug. As she does so, she approaches the staircase in question, and acquiesces, "If you insist."

"My name is James, James Barnes" he informs her, "Most people call me Bucky, though."

They come to a stop near the foot of the first staircase, and James absently tugs off his cap with a sigh. His hair is damp, a dark shade of brown that curls at the ends, and James is actually quite young. Around her age, perhaps, with the shadow of a beard along his jaw, and eyes an arresting, pale shade of blue. They're almost grey, even, flecked with darker shades of blue. Thalia can't say she's ever seen eyes like them.

"Thalia Black," she answers. He seems bemused by it, and Thalia's smile is wry. It's not a common name - except maybe in Greece - and among the non-magical population of the 1920's and 1930's, she's received her fair share of attention for it. "It's from Greek Mythology."

"Interesting," James acknowledges. He gestures for her to walk up ahead of him, and Thalia does so in silence, "And you're new around here?"

"I am," she confirms, "I've just moved in with my brother."

"Welcome to New York, then. How are you liking it?"

"I only arrived this morning, so I haven't seen much, but I can't complain. Have you always lived here?"

"All my life," James confirms, "As long as I can remember, anyway."

"I suppose you know all the interesting places to visit, then."

Thalia comes to a stop at the landing of her floor, and James halts himself at the stairs continuing upwards. He's shoved his hands into the front pockets of his trousers, his cap firmly back on his head, and there's a smile on his face, charming and suggestive in one fell swoop.

This boy - man, rather - is trouble, it seems. The best kind of trouble, that is.

"I suppose you'd be right."

"Maybe I'll ask you to show me around sometime, then."

James' eyes flash with interest. "I'd be glad to be of service."

"I bet," Thalia smirks. She takes a step towards Marius' apartment, "For now, though, I'd best get these groceries inside. It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr Barnes."

"Likewise, Miss Black."

Thalia retreats into the flat, unsurprised to find that Marius has already returned. She'd taken her time at the shops, deciding what meal to prepare, fussing over the ingredients she would need to do so, exploring what else the grocer, butcher, and general store had to offer. She'd also taken her time in _getting_ to the store, visiting the other shops along the way, browsing their wares and speaking with the proprietors. She'd therefore given Marius plenty of time to leave and then return, and prompt as he has always been, Marius does not disappoint.

"I was wondering if I'd have to go looking for you," Marius greets her. He takes the shopping bags from her hands, and leads the way into the kitchen, "How did it go?"

"Uneventfully," Thalia answers, "We're having roast beef for dinner. Do you mind?"

"So long as I reserve the right not to eat it if it turns out inedible," Marius answers.

Thalia rolls her eyes. "Because you're so confident in my skills, you can clean the kitchen once we're done eating."

Marius pulls a face, but he doesn't argue. It may be that he's spent the last seven years in a society that still believes a woman's place is solely as a housekeeper, but he was raised in a culture wherein women have been afforded the same respect as men for generations. As such, he knows better than to expect Thalia to take up all of the housekeeping around their flat.

He knows even better not to risk her ire. Thalia has enough respect for herself, for others, and for magic not to hex people over trivial matters and petty grievances, but she has a temper, and she has no qualms about letting others know - loudly, creatively, and/or calmly - when, how, and why they've irked her.

"Do you need any help?" Marius looks like he regrets asking.

"No," Thalia denies, "But if you'd like to set the table…?"

Her brother does so, and then hesitantly wanders over to the living area. He plays an album on his record player, an American singer Thalia - justifiably - doesn't recognise. The music is typical of the era though, big band accompaniments, a catchy beat, a rhythm to dance to.

Thalia, personally, could do without the lyrics. They are usually a blatant reminder of the 1930's social mores regarding women, and in particular, the expectations of them as wives, and lovers, and what have you. As such, they never fail to irritate her beyond reason, and Thalia doesn't have it in her to spend her life angry.

It helps that Thalia knows things will improve in time. The gender gap hasn't been completely abolished by the early 2000's - when she'd died - but at least in the western world, it is far better than what it is in the 1930's.

As Marius busies himself with his newspapers - The New York Times, and the New York Ghost, - Thalia prepares their dinner. She has to retrieve a lot of the cookware she'd brought from London to do so, and in doing so, she wonders, incredulously and out loud, what on Earth her brother has been eating for the last seven years.

"I've boiled things, mostly," Marius explains, "Sometimes I'll have dinner out, but mostly I just boiled potatoes, vegetables, chicken."

"Gods, just when I think I can't hate them more for what they did," Thalia grouses, "They're horrible people who should have been sterilised at birth."

"You shouldn't hate them, Lia," Marius sighs wearily, his eyes on his book. Thalia opens her mouth to protest, but he continues before she can, "They're not worth that sort of effort."

Thalia shuts her mouth then, her lips pursed in displeasure, and wordlessly proceeds with preparing their dinner. She can't argue with that kind of logic.

-!- -#-

Eventually, she serves their meal. Marius carves up the roast, Thalia serves the corn, potatoes, and assorted vegetables. She distributes the gravy, Marius pours them each a glass of red wine, and they settle in to eat with only the sound of Marius' record player between them.

"It's good, Lia," Marius compliments, and offers her a sheepish smile, "I'm sorry for doubting you."

"Thank you, and you're forgiven. I'm glad you like it."

"Do you think Dorea will be spoiling her new husband like this?"

Thalia tries to picture it, and laughs. Dorea's confident, and independent, and effortlessly classy in a way Thalia will never be, but she's never thought much of manual labour, or homemaking, and not even Charles Potter can change that.

"Not likely."

"Thank Merlin for house elves, I suppose?" Marius quips.

Thalia hums her agreement. "Something like that."

"How was the wedding, anyway? I received the invite, but…"

But Marius lives an ocean away, and he doesn't have the option of port-key travel to get to Britain promptly. Moreover, he's been disowned and disinherited from the House of Black, and to make an appearance at Dorea's wedding would have caused an absurd amount of drama among the family.

On Dorea and Charles' special day, he wouldn't have abided by it. Not for anything in the world.

"It was a beautiful wedding. I have pictures. Would you like to see them?"

"Of course," Marius replies, "I'd love to. After dinner?"

Thalia nods her acquiescence, and returns to her meal. Marius does the same, and between conversation regarding Thalia's thoughts of Brooklyn thus far, Marius' job with Stark Industries, his studies, and Thalia's plans to start Nursing, Midwifery and Medi-Witch training, the time flies. It's such that their meal comes to an end, and Marius harries her towards her room, eager to see the pictures, and also to chase her out of the kitchen so he can clean in peace.

Thalia acquiesces, laughing, and she can't remember when she'd last felt so light. Not during her time in Hogwarts as Thalia Black, haunted by memories from her life as Thalia Potter, and certainly not during the summer holidays in London, surrounded by the pureblood ideology that Tom Riddle would one day use to justify a war that would destroy three - perhaps four - generations of magical Britain.

Perhaps she never has, in either of the lives she's lived.

It won't last, of course. The combined might of Grindelwald and Hitler will soon plunge most of the world into one of the bloodiest, most catastrophic wars history has ever known, and Thalia, in her way, will not be spared the hell. Not when she can do something - anything - to help.

Until then, though, Thalia will enjoy the lightness for as long as she can. She can do nothing less.


	3. Part 1: Chapter 3

**In the Darkness With You **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, or the Marvel Cinematic Universe. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Part One: In the Dark, I Can Hear Your Heartbeat**

**Chapter Three: One Of Those Days **

_15th August, 1938 _

It doesn't take Thalia long to finalise the arrangements for her studies at Brooklyn Hospital. Most of it has been organised already, via Marius, and all that is left is to confirm her enrolment, payment plan, and schedule, and also to purchase everything she would need. It's tedious, but it takes less time than she anticipates, and before long, she's on her way home, sweltering in the oppressive heat of summertime in New York.

Near the apartment building, she's diverted by a scuffle in an alleyway she's passing. There's a couple of large, heavyset men railing on a smaller, frailer looking man. He's giving them hell though, punching and kicking when he can, and hurling an impressive litany of insults all the while, and Thalia watches, completely perplexed. She can't make sense of it, can't figure out why they're fighting, can't figure out why no one's intervened, and finally, she can't figure out what she ought to do. Should she stop them? Should she walk away?Should she get help?

As the Girl Who Lived, Thalia would have intervened without a second thought. She's been Thalia Black for nearly 20 years, however, and she's learned caution in that time. She's also learned the value of a good reputation, of diplomacy over violence, of words over fists, and it wouldn't do her - or the three men - any good if she got herself involved in a back alley brawl.

What to do instead, however?

The choice is taken out of her hands when someone brushes past her. It's James Barnes, in jeans, and a pair of canvas shoes. It seems he's just gotten off a shift at work - or something along those lines - and just as he turns his back on her, there's an expression of long-suffering weariness on his face. It's gone a moment later, as he wades into the fray with an easy, feline grace, deters the clashing men with a few words, carefully chosen to settle ruffled feathers and hair-trigger tempers. He stands between the three men, relaxed and loose-limbed, and as he speaks, there's an affable smile on his face. In this instance, he exudes charm, and before long, the two larger men are gone, and James is speaking with the third - the shorter, thinner blonde - with a frown.

As he does so, Thalia approaches them hesitantly, uncertain of her welcome. James notices though, and he offers her another one of his smiles. His hair is wet, curling around his ears and damp on his collar, and he looks tired.

"You really know how to impress a girl, Stevie," James addresses his companion. To her, he says, "It's nice to see you again, Thalia. I'm sorry you had to see that."

"That's quite all right," Thalia answers. She offers the third combatant a handkerchief, "You're bleeding."

"Thanks." The man, blonde and blue eyed, accepts the handkerchief with a curt nod, and dabs tentatively at his bleeding lip.

"Thalia, this is my friend, Steve Rogers. He's a magnet for trouble. Steve, this is Thalia Black. She moved into our building last week."

"Welcome to the neighbourhood," Steve acknowledges. It's not unkindly, but nevertheless, Thalia receives the impression that he'd prefer if she were anywhere else.

"Thank you," Thalia replies. She glances at James, who studies his friend with a curious frown on his face, "I suppose I'll leave you both to it, then."

"I was just on my way home," James says, "Were you heading that way?"

Thalia nods. She'll make her way to the butcher and green grocer in the afternoon, but for the moment, she'd prefer to get out of the heat.

"Would you mind some company for the walk?"

Thalia glances at Steve, who seems hardly thrilled by the prospect, but she can't think of a polite way to refuse. "I'd enjoy some company, thank you."

James offers Thalia his arm, she accepts, and they return to the street. Steve slows to walk behind them, sullenly silent, gaze on the sidewalk, and despite the conversation with James - about his work at the docks, her study plans, his own studies, the places she's visited in Brooklyn, thus far - Thalia remains perpetually cognisant of Steve's presence. She finds herself off-put by his attitude, irked by his apparent displeasure at her presence, and by the time they reach their building, Thalia is bristling like an angry cat.

"This is me," she informs him, stopped in front of her apartment door. Steve loiters by the stairs as James walks her there, "Thank you for the company, James."

"It was my pleasure," he answers genially. In a softer tone, he adds, "I'm sorry about Steve. I'm not sure what's eating at him, but he's not usually so rude."

"You don't need to take responsibility for his behaviour," Thalia answers. She fusses with her keys, glances at her door, and excuses herself, "I'd best head inside. I hope you have a lovely afternoon, James."

"Likewise," James answers softly. He lingers until she's safely inside, and the last she hears from him is the soft tread of his footsteps as he returns to the stairwell.

Exhaling, Thalia drops her bag onto an end table, flops onto the couch, and stares listlessly at the ceiling overhead. Marius isn't home - he works 9 - 5 when university isn't in session - and the quiet is curiously stifling. There are letters awaiting her though, errands to run and chores to do, and in want of distraction, she makes herself a quick lunch, and then busies herself with the correspondence in question.

In her twin sister's letter, Thalia learns Dorea is well, attending a training course alongside Charles. They have plans to join the war against Grindelwald, to fight the good fight and aid in bringing an end to his oppression. She learns, also, that their elder sister, Cassiopeia, has refused yet another offer of marriage, that their parents, Cygnus and Violetta, are furious with Thalia's departure from Britain, that their brother Pollux and his wife, Irma, are expecting their third child.

Thalia writes back, informs Dorea of her wellbeing, and of Marius', and includes separate missives to the rest of her family, as well. She congratulates Cassiopeia for her continued refusal to tie herself down, and Pollux for his impending bundle of joy. She doesn't apologise to her parents for her decision - that would imply a guilt she does not feel - but she assures them that she is healthy, happy, and safe, entreats that they not search for her, and explains that she could not continue to live a life she despises, surrounded by ideologies she has no taste for, by people who revel in those beliefs in question. Thalia is liable to be disowned for it, to be disinherited for not 'falling in line', but she's emptied her trust vault into an account her family can't access, and ultimately, it's a reality she can live with, quite happily and without regret.

Thalia sighs when she is done, seals Dorea's letter with the others' inside it, and gathers up her things to leave for the shops. Her other errands - a visit to MACUSA to file the paperwork for her residency, a visit to the Manhattan tax office to do the same, and to her local post office to send off her mail - will have to wait until the following day, but in the mean time, Thalia has groceries to purchase, and the stores are only open for so long…

-!- -#-

Thalia encounters James at the general store. He's stocking shelves on autopilot, and in the lingering heat, his T-shirt clings to his lean, well-defined torso. It's a lovely view, but when he notices her approach, the smile he offers her is even more captivating.

"Have you come to deliver me from this tedium, Miss Black?"

"Would that I could, Mr Barnes," Thalia parries lightly, "Alas, your overseers are watching."

There's a bored looking girl at the other end of the aisle. She looks like James, with the same dark hair, and with the same high cheekbones, and they look too similar to be anything but related. SHe's turned to watch them, expression oddly impassive, and she is entirely unapologetic in her scrutiny of Thalia, and of her interaction with James.

James rolls his eyes, long-suffering but fond, "My sister, Rebecca. But since I'm supposed to be working: Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Do you sell rock salt here?"

"We do," James confirms, "I'll show you where it is."

It isn't far - just a few aisles away - but they take their time walking there. In the process, Thalia learns that James' parents own the store, that he and his siblings have been stocking shelves and cleaning for them as long as they'd been deemed 'old enough', that his work at the docks and studies at Brooklyn College keep him busy, but he tries to help when he can.

In that regard, he's a much better son than Thalia is a daughter. She's not sure she'd help her parents - those from this life, that is - if they were on fire.

"And here we are," James declares. He gestures towards the shelves of rock salts.

"Thank you for your help."

"It was my pleasure," James answers. He tips an invisible hat towards her, and then meanders back the way they'd come.

Thalia, meanwhile, retrieves a pound bag of rock salts from the shelves, deposits it in her basket, and makes her way towards the check-out counter. There's an older man there, his dark brown hair peppered with grey, with laugh lines creasing the corners of his eyes. He chats genially with her as he rings up her purchases - about her day, the weather, about the state of things in Britain - and his Welsh accent makes her think of home. Not London, where her parents and eldest brother's toxic ideology has saturated everything. Not the Black Manor in Northern England, either, where Thalia always feels suffocated by House Black's unending, unwelcome expectations. Rather, Thalia is reminded of her cozy little cottage in Colwyn Bay - circa the early 2000's - and she's struck with a sudden, inexplicable pang of homesickness.

"That's you done, dear."

"Thank you, sir," Thalia acknowledges. She gathers up her shopping bags, and adds, "Have a nice evening."

The man, Thomas Barnes, smiles a crinkly-eyed smiled. "The same to you, Missy."

Thalia leaves the store, takes her time at the butcher's and green grocer's, and then gratefully makes her way home. It's been a busy, productive day, and once she prepares dinner for herself and Marius, Thalia will be glad to put her feet up. She'll soon have few opportunities to do so, and she intends to appreciate those last few moments when she can.


	4. Part 1: Chapter 4

**In the Darkness With You **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, or the Marvel Cinematic Universe. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Part One: In the Dark, I Can Hear Your Heartbeat**

**Chapter Four: Out On the Town **

_19th August, 1938 _

On Friday evening, Marius makes plans to take Thalia out to dance. Ostensibly, it's to give her the opportunity to meet people, to maybe make some friends, but realistically, it's more that Marius is an incurable flirt. As such, to him, dancing with a beautiful woman - or five - is a pleasant way to unwind after a busy week.

Thalia, in any case, doesn't protest. She's grown a little stir crazy in the apartment, and quite frankly, it'd be nice to do something other than prepare dinner, listen to the radio, and read a book until it grows late enough for bed.

With that in mind, she dons a red dress that flatters her curves, that floats loosely around her knees, and pairs it with shoes she can dance in. She twists her hair into a chignon, carefully applies her makeup, and packs a small purse with the things she'll need for the evening.

"You look lovely, Lia," Marius compliments.

"Why thank you, brother dearest," Thalia replies airily, "You look rather dapper, yourself."

Marius is clean-shaven, his hair combed back. His clothes are cleaned and pressed, his leather shoes shine, and he twirls a well-worn fedora around his fingers.

Marius rolls his eyes. "Are you ready to go?"

"I am," Thalia confirms, "Are you?"

Marius nods his confirmation, and approaches the door. "Let's go, then. The Arcadia awaits."

The Arcadia, as it happens, is a rather popular dance hall about a 15 minute walk from their apartment. It's already fairly busy by the time they arrive, dancers populating the dance floor, and the big band music reverberating in her ears. Marius makes a bee-line for the bar, purchases them both drinks, and then proceeds to introduce Thalia to everyone he recognises. It's a blur of names and faces, of polite small-talk and the occasional spin around the dance floor, and Thalia enjoys herself immensely.

Her night only improves when she catches sight of James. He's accompanied by his sullen friend, but he's in conversation with a few others by the bar, his expressions unguarded, his hands animated as he regales them all with a story that has them all listening attentively.

"I'm going to get another drink," she informs Marius. Her brother barely pays her any heed, more interested in the girl on his arm, and Thalia leaves him to his most recent conquest with an exasperated roll of her eyes. She approaches the bar, orders herself a glass of water, and then sips it slowly. She'd briefly considered approaching James and his cluster of friends and their obligatory arm-candy, but there's something extremely daunting about approaching a group of men on her own, and Thalia's not that brave. So she drinks her water instead, enjoys the music, and takes the time to _breathe_. It's been an unexpectedly busy night, and the momentary respite is welcome.

It doesn't last long, however.

"Thalia," James greets her. He settles himself on the empty bar stool beside her own, "Fancy meeting you here."

"James," she acknowledges, and smiles despite herself, "How are you?"

"I'm well," he answers, "I saw you dancing earlier."

"Oh, no," Thalia winces, chagrined, but she laughs, too, "That must've been a sight. I've never danced Swing before."

"You held your own," James assures her. Thalia's dubious - she's fairly certain he's just being nice - but she doesn't protest, "You're a good dancer."

"Thank you."

"You're taking a break, or are you done for the night?"

"Just a break," she answers, "Why, would you like to dance?"

James looks half surprised, half delighted by her question. Presumably, he's spent years being the one (expected) to ask for a dance, but Thalia doesn't care much for a lot of the societal conventions of the era she's been reborn into. Her cowardice aside, she's a strong, independent woman, and if she wants to dance with a man, she's not going to wait around until he asks her to.

"It'd be my pleasure, Miss Black."

And so they dance. James is excellent, graceful and practised, and patient as Thalia familiarises herself with the motions. As she does so, as she laughs over her stumbles and banters lightly with James about music, and books, and about her adventures in New York, the time flies by. One dance turns to two, to three, until Thalia loses count somewhere between a break for refreshments and the announcement that the band has one last song before they pack up for the night.

They dance that one, too, and reluctantly separate when the song, eventually, draws to a close.

"Thank you for your company tonight, Thalia," James says. He lightly squeezes her hands in both of his, "I've had a wonderful time with you."

"Likewise," Thalia smiles. Reluctantly, she pulls her gaze away from his, and casts her eyes over the emptying dance hall. Marius awaits her at a table near the doors, a girl on his arm but his expectant gaze on Thalia, "I suppose I ought to go. My brother's waiting."

"May I walk with you?" James queries. He shrugs, "We're heading the same way, and I suppose I'm not ready to let you go quite yet."

"I wouldn't say 'no' to that. Will Steve be joining us?"

James shakes his head as he offers her his elbow, "No. He left earlier, when I approached you at the bar. Besides, I imagine you'd hardly welcome his company, given his behaviour last time."

Thalia is spared from answering as they reach Marius. She makes introductions instead, and in turn, she and James are introduced to Marius' companion, Rosa. They leave the hall together a moment later, chatting amicably about that night's band, about their respective plans for the weekend, about Marius' and Thalia's impressions regarding London, New York, Brooklyn.

It's such that the walk to their building flies by, and before they know it, James and Thalia are approaching the front door, and Marius is loitering behind.

"I'm going to walk Rosa home," Marius says, "Will you be alright, Lia?"

"I'll be fine," Thalia replies.

Marius nods his acknowledgement. "Don't wait up, then."

Thalia doesn't pull a face, but it's a near thing. She doesn't disapprove - her brother's choices are his own - but it's more that she'd rather not know about what - or whom - he's doing. Ignorance is bliss, and all that.

"I won't. Goodnight, Rosa. It was lovely to meet you."

Thalia and James retreat inside as Marius and Rosa continue down the block, and the silence as they tread upstairs is an easy, companionable one.

"And here we are again," she sighs as they reach her door, "Thank you for walking me home. And just for tonight, really. You're an excellent dancer."

"And you're a very quick study," James replies, "Maybe we can go dancing again sometime?"

"I'd like that," she answers, smiling. "But I suppose I should call it a night. It's rather late."

James nods, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers, "Goodnight, then. Sleep well."

"Goodnight to you, as well." And Thalia, on a whim, rocks up on the tips of her toes to press a chaste kiss on James' cheek. She retreats inside before he can react, clicks shut the apartment door, and floats to her bedroom with a smile on her face she probably couldn't shake for the life of her.

She doesn't even try.


	5. Part 1: Chapter 5

**In the Darkness With You**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, or the Marvel Cinematic Universe. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Part One: In the Dark, I Can Hear Your Heartbeat **

**Chapter Five: I Wanna Know You**

_August 27th, 1938 _

The next time Thalia crosses paths with James, it's at the end of her first week of classes at the Brooklyn Hospital, and she is drained. It's evening, the streets shadowed as the sun sinks below the horizon, and James is in the same train car as her, slouched in a seat, once more dressed in jeans and canvas shoes. He looks as tired as she feels - perhaps more so - but he smiles upon sight of her, and gestures for Thalia to take the empty seat beside him.

"You've just finished work?" Thalia greets him. She's aware he juggles work at the docks with evening classes at Brooklyn College, with the occasional shift at his parents' general store, with commitments to Church and Boxing and other things important to him, but it seems the effort takes it's toll.

"I did," James confirms, "I had to cover someone else's shift as well, so it's been a long day."

"I'm sorry to hear it," Thalia acknowledges, "Do you have tomorrow free, at least?"

Thalia's own Saturday wasn't so arduous as hauling crates out of shipping containers for hours on end. Instead, her morning had been spent in Theory of Magical Healing lectures, but her afternoon had been spent trailing Healers, Medi-Witches, and Medi-Wizards as they'd gone about their usual routines, and it hadn't been terrible. In fact, the lack of misogynistic doctors to contend with had been a refreshing change from the rest of her week, but it _had_ been a long six days, and she's ready for something of a lie-in on Sunday.

"My Ma would tan my hide if I don't show up for church," James answers, "But after that, I have no plans. Do you?"

"I don't," she denies.

Thalia hasn't been to church since she'd been a child on Privet Drive. Vernon and Petunia had attended their local Church of England services to maintain appearances, and they'd dragged Thalia along in an attempt to, Thalia realises in retrospect, instil in her the fear of God (or magic). Naturally, they'd been unsuccessful, but all the same, the concept of attending another service leaves an unpleasant taste in her mouth.

"Are you particularly religious?" she queries.

"I don't _disbelieve,_" James replies with a shrug, tilts his head towards her, and admits, "But I don't think I really believe, either. Are you?"

It's a bold statement. 1930's and 40's America isn't known for its acceptance of anything outside of white, mainstream, Christian conservatism, and that includes agnosticism and atheism. He could be discriminated and persecuted for it, his family's business could suffer, the family themselves ostracised, which is probably why he still goes to church. Still, the fact he tells her…

I don't care for organised religion," Thalia admits, "But I'm not going to discount the possibility of a higher power, or some such. As humans, we don't know everything."

Also, she's lived through far too many extraordinary, inexplicable events to discount the possibility. She's been spared from death thrice, her adolescence as Thalia Potter had been dictated by prophecy, she's been reincarnated as another person entirely. She's not sure about God or Ala or whoever, but Fate, Death, magic beyond witchcraft and wizardry?

Thalia is open to the possibilities.

"No, we don't," James agrees.

They settle into a companionable silence as their train rattles onwards, and it isn't until they reach their station that it's broken once more.

"Are you heading straight home?"

"Yes," she confirms. As weary as she feels, the thought of doing anything else is an uncomfortable and unpleasant one. Marius will just have to content himself with leftovers. "Are you?"

James nods his confirmation, and offers her his arm. "Shall we?"

Thalia curls her hand around his offered arm with a smile. "We shall."

Under the light of the setting sun, they spend the walk in conversation about their respective weeks, about their respective families, about their respective hopes for the future. Even as a part of Thalia is left hollow by the omnipresent awareness of what the world will face in the years to come, She learns that James wants to work for the New York Times, that he's minoring in Economics and Political Science to supplement his major in Journalism, that he's the eldest of six. In turn, James learns that aside from Marius, Thalia has two more older siblings and an identical twin, that she's not on the best of terms with her parents or eldest brother, that she considered a career in teaching for a time, but eventually decided that she would never have the wherewithal to watch over other peoples' children day in and day out for weeks, months, or years on end.

"I don't blame you," James acknowledges, expression thoughtful, "I probably couldn't do it, either. They'd drive me to drink within a week!"

Thalia bites her tongue on the obvious question - would he want children of his own? - and recollects notable experiences with her own teachers - Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall, Horace Slughorn, and Albus Dumbledore, in particular - and James reciprocates in kind. They don't mention names, or even classes, but Thalia discovers that James is an excellent storyteller, and she's enthralled the rest of the way to their building.

"Thank you again for your company, James," Thalia says at her door.

"Likewise," James acknowledges. He seems to hesitate, but then he asks, "Would you like to have lunch with me tomorrow?"

Thalia smiles, pleased and nervous and any number of indiscernable things. "I'd love to."

"Swell," James acknowledges. He can't wipe a smile of his own off his face, and Thalia is hopelessly charmed by it. "Does one o'clock work for you?"

"It does," Thalia answers, and wryly reflects that if it didn't, she'd probably _make_ it work by force of will alone. James Barnes has left her smitten, besotted, dazzled by his charm, his good looks and good humour, and Thalia would be an idiot to pass up a date with him.

Thalia Iolanthe Black is many things - proud, stubborn, and opinionated, to name a few - but an idiot is not one of them.

"I'll meet you here at one o'clock, then," James acknowledges.

"I look forward to it," she replies softly, earnestly, and James' smile softens in turn. It's no less sincere, but it's less ecstatic, more endeared, and Thalia averts her gaze before she does something stupid. "I'd best head inside; Marius will be wondering where I've gotten to."

"Of course," James clears his throat, takes a conscious step away from her, and shoves his hands into the front pockets of his trousers, "I'm sorry to have kept you."

"Don't be," Thalia smiles impishly, "I'm certainly not."

Thalia leaves James floundering for a response in the hallway, and retreats into she and Marius' apartment with a bounce in her step. Her brother is already home, the New York Ghost open in front of him, but his gaze on Thalia, an eyebrow arched, his expression utterly deadpan. He's not impressed by her dramatic entrance, by the conversation he'd likely overheard, by the irrepressible smile on her face, but Thalia couldn't care in the slightest.

Unfortunately, her good cheer only lasts as long as it takes for her to notice the front headline of Marius' copy of the Ghost. In bold, black letters, it screams 'German Chancellor of Magic Assassinated', and Thalia's stomach drops somewhere around the vicinity of her knees.

-!- -#-

**Author's Note:** According to my research, back in the day, studies at the Brooklyn College were free of charge. Also back in the day, you probably needed to undergo a cadetship to become a journalist, but whatever, artistic license.

There was a lot going on in the months and years preceding World War II. I don't address it because I can't see a way to do so that would neatly tie into the story, but just assume that Thalia is following the events in Europe and Asia very closely.

Thanks for reading, hope you've enjoyed. Until next time, -t.


	6. Part 1: Chapter 6

**In the Darkness With You**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, or the Marvel Cinematic Universe. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Part One: In the Dark, I Can Hear Your Heartbeat **

**Chapter Six: Out on the Town **

On Sunday morning, Thalia bakes a couple of loaves of bread, a batch of brownies, and a dish of lasagna. She's restless, worried about the escalating conflicts in Europe and Asia, irritated by most of the letters she'd received from Britain, concerned by what the newspapers and her family's correspondence _isn't_ saying, and it isn't an ideal mindset for her date with James.

And so, since flying is out of the question over New York City, she stress bakes, stress cleans, dances around the flat until the endorphins have done their work. She can't completely forget about the rising tension in Europe and Asia, about the world wide war encroaching on Britain's doorstep, but her mood lifts to the point that she looks forward to her outing with James, and it's enough.

As she flits around the apartment, Marius watches from the settee, eyes Thalia as though she's possessed, but he doesn't question her, and neither does he stop her.

Instead, he reads his papers and later, he studies his coursework, he enjoys the freshly baked bread and the brownies, and reluctantly acquiesces to being a dance partner when Thalia decides her music calls for one. He does so only under threat of an embargo on future baked goods, but needs must, and Thalia learned to bribe and blackmail from the best of them.

Eventually, Thalia retreats to ready herself for her date. She showers, washes her hair, cleans her teeth and what have you, and by the time she's adorned in a pretty day dress that floats around her knees, her hair twisted into a chignon at the nape of her neck, she's in a far better mood than that which she'd started her day with. She applies her makeup with care, packs a small purse with her essentials, and then she ignores Marius' teasing until James arrives promptly at the time agreed.

"Hi," she greets her date cheerfully. He's dressed smartly, hat in hand, and she's heartened to see him refreshed; The night of sleep had been good for him. "You're looking well."

"And you're looking lovely," James replies, his lips turned up in an easy smile. He'd taken a moment to look over her, but he maintains eye contact with her as he speaks, and Thalia is reminded - once more - that this boy is trouble.

The best kind, though.

"Smooth," she commends, retrieves her purse, and waves at Marius behind her. James has a smirk on his face, entertained by her (sedate) response to his flattery, and she grins despite herself.

"Have fun," her brother bids, "Stay safe."

Thalia nods her acknowledgement before she shuts the door on Marius' gaze, curls her hand around James' offered elbow, and walks with him down the hall. They speak briefly, about their respective mornings - James' church service ("Dull, as usual"), Thalia's endeavours in baking ("Successful, fortunately") - and outside their building, Thalia is surprised to be led to a car.

"It's my Tad's,*" James explains, sounding sheepish, "He said I could borrow it for the afternoon."

"Are we going far?"

"To Williamsburg," James answers. He opens the door for her, and Thalia settles herself on the leather seat. He shuts the door, slips into the driver's seat with a confidence that is comforting, and explains "We're going to a restaurant called Bamonte's.** Do you like Italian?"

Thalia's mother in this life, Violetta Black, is Italian, and despite the fascist government presently in power on both sides of the Statute of Secrecy there (or perhaps because of it, more likely), she is unapologetically proud of her heritage. As such, Thalia and her siblings had been raised on a diet of British and Western European cuisine, but Italian food in particular had been a staple. As a result, an appreciation for the country - for its food and wine and language - among VIoletta's children was inevitable, and Thalia explains as much.

"I'm glad," James says. He drives easily, with a surety about him that implies practice, and Thalia relaxes further into her seat, assured that they're not about to die in a car wreck anytime soon, "Not everyone cares to appreciate foreign food."

"That's there loss, I suppose."

James huffs a laugh, barely audible over the engine. "You're telling me."

There's a story behind the sardonic smile that accompanies his words, but Thalia doesn't pry. Instead, they discuss other cuisines they've each enjoyed, and in the process, Thalia learns James is half Romanian, that his parents emigrated from Wales when James was an infant, that he's never afraid to try something at least once. He's spent his life exposed to different cuisines, courtesy of neighbours and friends from all over, and subsequently, he's developed something of a curiosity around different cultures and the dishes they offer. It's a fairly unconventional mindset for the time, but it's one Thalia appreciates immensely.

Perhaps it was founded in a desire to rebel against Vernon and Petunia and their xenophobic ideologies, but as Thalia Potter, she'd embraced foreign cultures, their food and languages and histories. It's an interest that has carried over to her life as Thalia Black, and she's delighted to find someone of a like mind among the pervasive, 1930's sensibilities of Western superiority omnipresent in America and Britain.

Thus diverted by pleasant, animated conversation, Thalia only realises they've reached their destination when James parks the car. She opens the door and clambers out before he can help her do so, offers him an unapologetic shrug when she meets his humoured gaze afterwards, and meets him on the footpath.

"Shall we?" James queries. He offers her his elbow, and Thalia accepts.

"We shall."

They approach the restaurant, Bamonte's, in an easy, companionable silence. It's a charming establishment with carpeted floors and darkly polished furniture, patronised mostly by expressive, animated Italians, attended by similarly Italian, tuxedo-clad waiters.

"How did you find this place?" Thalia queries. A host leads them to a booth by the front windows, and James settles in across from her with a nervous glance across the room. She wonders if he expects an impromptu gun fight between rival mobsters, huffs a laugh at the thought, and contemplates the menu.

"I know the owner's wife, Carmella," James explains, "I went to school with her younger brother, Anthony. I've only been here a few times, but the food is great."

"It certainly smells great," Thalia acknowledges. The scent is unmistakeable, melted cheese, pasta, bolognese sauce, and Thalia flips open her menu, intrigued and eager. "Do you already know what you'll get?"

"Not yet," James replies. He studies his own menu, and they idly discuss the available options as conversation continues around them. Eventually, though, a waiter takes their orders, and James and Thalia are left to their own devices, a complimentary jug of water and a basket of breadsticks between them.

Before conversation can stall, Thalia raises a topic she's wondered about since the beginning of their acquaintance. She's not sociable by nature, but she's learned a great deal from Dorea, from Cassiopeia, from Fred and George Weasley a long time ago. She's also been on dates before, in this life and the last, and she knows better than to let the awkward moments linger.

"When we met, you told me your friends call you Bucky. Where does a nickname like that come from?"

"It's not much of a story, truth be told," James answers with an easy grin, " As a kid, there were four other James' in my class, and to spare everyone the confusion, most of us went by nicknames. Someone suggested my middle name, which is Buchanan, I told them it was too much of a mouthful, someone else decided Bucky was a good enough substitute, and I've been Bucky to my friends ever since. My family calls me James or Iacov, or Jimbo when my siblings want to be annoying, but most people around here have known me for most of my life, and 'Bucky' has just become a habit."

"Do you have a preference?"

"No," he refutes, "I don't mind that you call me James. Do you have a nickname you prefer?"

"Not really. Marius and Dorea, my sister, call me Lia every now and then, but other than that, I've just always been Thalia."

Their conversation continues in a similar fashion, chatting idly, getting to know each other better, sharing anecdotes of their respective childhoods, their respective studies, their respective expectations for the week ahead. Even as Thalia mentally notes how many of James' stories involve wrenching his sullen friend, Steve, out of trouble, they each enjoy their food, the bottle of wine they share***, the light-hearted debates regarding books they've both read, the less light-hearted discussions about the news reports they'd each heard, and before Thalia knows it, two hours have passed, the bottle of wine is empty, and they've worn out their waiter's patience.

James pays the bill - he insists, and Thalia contents herself with covering the tip - and they exit onto the street with their compliments to the chef lingering behind them.

"You like to read, I gather," James says, oddly hesitant. They idle near his father's car, but he makes no move to open either door. He stands close to her though, and he smells pleasantly clean, like citrus, and Thalia has spent an embarrassing amount of time appreciating the fact.

"I do," Thalia confirms, bemused, "I gather you do, too."

"You're not wrong. I'm asking because there's a secondhand bookstore down the street. Would you want to visit it with me?"

It's not the most conventional of date destinations, but Thalia's delighted regardless. Not so much for the books - though that, too, appeals to her - but more so because it's an insight into James Barnes beyond his affability and easy charm.

Thus, she grins, takes hold of his elbow once more, presses in close against his side, and bids, "Lead the way."

-!- -#-

**Footnotes:**

* Tad: Welsh, English Translation: Dad

** Bamonte's: Italian restaurant, opened in 1900. Still around today, and apparently very good.

*** After remembering that the current legal drinking age in NYC is 21, I did some digging, and found out that the legal drinking age had been 18 "for many years before 1982." I don't know if the afore-mentioned "many years" extends back to 1938, but if not, let's pretend it did.

-!- -#-

**Author's Note:** I actually find writing about dates very boring. Mostly I just wish I could skip to the point where the pairing is already established, but eh… Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading. Until next time, -t.


	7. Part 1: Chapter 7

**In the Darkness With You**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, or the Marvel Cinematic Universe. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Part One: In the Dark, I Can Hear Your Heartbeat **

**Chapter Seven: Bad Day **

Most of the time, Thalia doesn't think about the life she'd lived before. It's a defining part of her, certainly, but those experiences she'd survived as the daughter of James and Lily Potter are distant in this life - as though she'd observed, rather than endured them - and it's easier to treat those memories and skills as intrinsic, inherent parts of her identity - like her name, or her age, or her nationality - rather than moments she'd once experienced herself. She is Thalia Black, she is the daughter of Cygnus and Violetta Black, and once upon a time, she was a Gryffindor, was labelled the Chosen One, became a Master Curse Breaker.

Despite the general contentment with the life she's built for herself (dread for the approaching world war notwithstanding) as Thalia Black, however, there are moments wherein Thalia can't help but get caught up in the surrealism of it all. She is her own great-aunt, she is simultaneously 18 and 43 and dead several times over, and on these occasions, as she thinks on it too long and too deeply, it is completely, utterly baffling.

As she ruminates over the matter, dwells on her place in the universe, contemplates her role in the tapestry of life or fate or whatever power has brought her to this time and place, she trudges through her day absently, cast adrift by her thoughts, and it isn't until she's home again that she's drawn out of her own head, courtesy of Marius.

"Dreaming again, Lia?" Marius addresses her. He wears a concerned frown on his face though, and it occurs to Thalia that he hasn't seen her like this since before he'd left their London home behind.

Presumably, he assumed she had grown out of the tendency for her mind to go elsewhere. In fairness, she had for the most part - at least, the occasions have grown far less frequent as she'd settled further into her life as Thalia Black - but she has never been able to escape the spells completely, and Thalia isn't exactly sure she can, or even wants to.

"There's a lot to think about, isn't there?" she counters, a grimace on her face, "I don't like the way things are going in Europe. It's frightening."

Marius frowns. He doesn't wholly believe her, but her concern is justifiable, and to his credit, he doesn't dismiss it outright. It's true, anyway - if not the cause for her present preoccupation - and Thalia tries not to feel guilty for the lie.

"We'll be all right here," Marius assures her, "The American government seems pretty determined to stay out of things, anyway."

"Right," Thalia acknowledges hollowly, and not for the first time, she regrets the burden that is her foreknowledge. Marius seems to sincerely believe what he's just said - or at least, he's very good at faking it - but Thalia knows better, and her heart hurts.

Without anymore words to say, Marius squeezes her shoulder, offers her his best attempt at a comforting smile, and returns his attention to that day's edition of the Ghost. Thalia, meanwhile, meanders into the kitchen to serve herself some leftovers, and tries not to brood over her inability to change what is, at the end of the day, inevitable.

It's not just that terrible things happen to those who meddle with time, though the warning is something Thalia's never been able to forget. It's more that, with international politics, finances, and social values as they are, the world is on a collision course with conflict, and there's no changing that. Not when Thalia's just one person, not when the cause for the increasing tension is more than just Grindelwald and Hitler, not when the foundations of World War II have been - or will be - built on an institution of prejudice, greed, on the unending pursuit of power in its many forms.

"I ran into Barnes on my way up," Marius says conversationally, and in doing so, successfully diverts Thalia from her gloomy thoughts. She glances at him from the dining table, and Marius continues, "He was on his way to class. We talked a bit, and he asked about you."

"What did you say?"

"I told him school has been keeping you busy. Should I have said you've been pining hopelessly for him all week, do you think?"

She scoffs at him, unimpressed, and insists, "I have not."

Marius only laughs, returns to his newspaper once more, and leaves Thalia to her dinner, to the letters that await her, to her thoughts of James Barnes, their date the previous Sunday, and the next they've already planned for the Sunday ahead. Their visit to the bookstore had resulted in a discussion of and regarding notable novels they'd read, and she'd learned that James was rather devoted to Science-Fiction and Thrillers, that he'd read everything Jane Austen had ever published, that he would love to write a novel of his own some day. Thalia had enjoyed it all - the bookstore, the company, the occasional descent into lighthearted debate - and she therefore looks forward to the opportunity to spend some more time with him.

Rather than dwell on James Barnes, however, Thalia turns her attention to her most recent correspondence from Britain. Her parents and eldest brother, Pollux, have foregone writing, but Dorea and Cassiopeia have each written at length, and have enclosed letters for Marius, as well.

"I've hardly spoken to her since I left," Marius says, "I'm surprised she wrote."

Thalia hums her acknowledgement, but her eldest sister's decisions aren't something she spends much time contemplating. Cassiopeia Black follows her own rules, regardless of societal and/or familial dictates, and Thalia stopped attempting to make sense of those rules years ago.

"I suppose it shouldn't surprise me," Marius continues. He traces a finger over Cassiopeia's flowing penmanship, his gaze distant, "She used to go on and on about how family is the most important thing there is."

"That hasn't changed."

"I just didn't think that extended to the disowned family members, too."

"Cassiopeia does what she wants," Thalia replies, "I think she especially enjoys annoying Pollux."

"Yeah, well, he deserves it."

"Of course he does."

Thalia's memories of her brothers together consist of Pollux terrorising Marius with little or no consequence from their pureblood supremacist parents, and her eldest brother has only grown worse with age. He's a cruel, uninhibited bigot, his wife only encourages his vicious excesses, and it's no wonder Walburga turned - or would turn, perhaps - out to be crazy, never mind Pollux's future granddaughter, Bellatrix.

In fact, Thalia's more surprised that the rest of Pollux and Irma's (future) descendants won't turn out just as crazy, but generally, she tries not to think about it. Thoughts of her niece and nephews - who they'd become and who they'd help bring into the world - twists Thalia up inside, leaves her mentally reeling all over again, and it's better for everyone - in particular, Thalia's own mental state - if she just avoids thoughts of them altogether.

Even as she makes no effort to maintain a relationship with the very young, very impressionable Cygnus and Walburga, however, Thalia can't help but wonder if the decision to distance herself from them is one she'll someday regret.

Merlin, but she hopes not.


End file.
